


They Say It's a Party

by brilligspoons



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Project runway - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/pseuds/brilligspoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gets emotionally blackmailed into competing on Project Runway. It ends up not being the worst thing that ever happened to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Say It's a Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darthjamtart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/gifts).



> Happy birthday to the loveliest and best of humans, darthjamtart. <33333

"No," Enjolras says. "No. Absolutely not."

Courfeyrac has the gall to pout at him. "Why?" she asks. She waves a hand at him as he starts to answer her. "And don't say you're too busy. You don't have any young designer workshops planned for the summer -"

"Yet," he interrupts. "I'm working on the funding. And the workspace. And the materials."

"- and it's not like you're getting anywhere with your own projects. You've been stalled on them for months now. I barely had anything recent to put in your application portfolio."

Enjolras tries not to wince. Courfeyrac has a point, as much he hates to ever admit that. The fact that none of the three collections he's been working on (two fall/winter, one very ill-advised attempt at spring/summer - they're just not his seasons, which is a neverending source of amusement for Combeferre and Courfeyrac) have progressed the way he wants them to grates on his every nerve, though he's been trying to keep his frustration mostly to himself. _Apparently I'm terrible at that, too,_ he thinks, very pointedly not looking over to the corner where his dress forms are languishing in stagnation.

He turns to Combeferre, confident that at least he will be in Enjolras' corner on this. "Explain to her why I don't need to do this," he demands.

Combeferre, who's lounging on the only clutter-free chair in the whole room and making notes in Enjolras' only copy of last month's Vogue with a pink Sharpie, says, "You know part of the grand prize is a workshop with brand new Brothers machines, right? What are your kids using these days?"

Enjolras needs friends who aren't adept at emotional blackmail.

He allows himself to feel slightly ashamed of how quickly he agrees to talk to Project Runway's casting team for twenty whole minutes after Combeferre mentions the grand prize, and then he comforts himself with the knowledge that at least he's doing it for a good cause. The thought of being able to teach the kids at the community center on machines that actually work gets him through the arduous task of choosing pieces that best display his abilities and design aesthetic. It also gets him through the disaster that is Courfeyrac directing and recording his audition tape. They don't speak to each other for a week after, of course, but no one's set anything in their shared apartment on fire either.

But it's fine. He's resolved now. He's going to win, preferably by a landslide, and nothing is going to get in his way.

***

Grantaire ("Call me R!") is a fucking nuisance. Enjolras doesn't think much of his design aesthetic from the very first challenge, and Grantaire, in turn, is excessively vocal in his criticism for Enjolras' own work. Needless to say, it's a struggle for Enjolras not to break down and cry when they find out their workspaces are right next to each other.

Grantaire's messy, is the thing. His designs are all chaotic slashes of color, frayed hems, and unnecessary zippers, and the seams usually look like they should be holding Frankenstein's monster together and kept far away from whatever poor fabric he happens to be using at the time. Enjolras may or may not be keeping a list of his worst offenses with the intent to use them as examples of what not to do when he goes back to teaching. He considers himself mature enough to recognize that not everyone shares his own personal taste (tailored, clean, pristine, with the occasional pop of an accent color), but there is an _objective limit_ to what fashion is and what it is not, and he finds it more than a little offensive that Valjean, their mentor for the competition, chooses to encourage Grantaire's wildest ideas rather than inject some much needed reality.

(Combeferre and Courfeyrac, the traitors, think he's being too harsh and tend to use phrases like _whimsical couture_ in reference to Grantaire's work. Enjolras accuses Courfeyrac of just saying that because Jehan, who's one of Grantaire's friends and whose designs are just as ridiculous but slightly better-made, is in hearing range and she wants to suck up. It takes Enjolras an hour to find all of his scissors and rulers the next morning, which he thinks is a complete overreaction on Courfeyrac's part.)

("And no," he says to Combeferre over lunch, "I am not pulling Grantaire's pigtails. I am an adult, and I am allowed to be critical of peers in my field because they are _peers_. It has nothing to do with finding arguing with them exhilarating. Because it's not. Exhilarating, that is. Not at all."

"I asked you to pass the salt," replies Combeferre, "but it's fine, I'll grab it myself. You've clearly got a lot more on your mind.")

Regardless, Enjolras doesn't expect Grantaire to skate by unopposed by the judges for the first two challenges, and when Heidi finally calls Grantaire's name on the third, it's got to be because that romper is truly hideous. Those colors have no business being anywhere near each other.

But the judges love it. Michael thinks the stitching is just wrong enough to be right, Nina's rattling off the names of young starlets who absolutely need to wear the outfit immediately, and Heidi wants to take it off the model's body right there and then. To add insult to injury, their guest judge (award-winning fashion designer, equal rights activist, and Enjolras' personal hero, _the_ Fantine) won't stop going on about the in-your-face middle finger that is Grantaire's color scheme.

Enjolras wishes the runway were a little higher off the ground so he could hurl himself off it and sustain minor injuries.

No one is surprised that Grantaire wins the challenge. What _is_ surprising is Grantaire turning to Enjolras after Heidi announces his success and kissing him firmly on the lips. Enjolras freezes, and everything around them goes very, very quiet.

It's...kind of an amazing kiss - close-lipped, dry, yet somehow straddling the line between chaste and obscene. Enjolras can't help the flush that shoots up the back of his neck and onto his face. When Grantaire pulls away from him a few seconds later, he looks as red and as stunned as Enjolras feels. He opens his mouth and then closes it before turning to the judges and quietly thanking them, and then he practically sprints off the runway.

By the time Enjolras makes it back to the designers' waiting room, he's long gone.

***

During the fourth challenge, Enjolras is so distracted by the memory of the kiss ("In front of Heidi and everyone!" he'd wailed at Combeferre) that he fails to attach a _fucking hook-and-eye_ properly, causing part of the neckline of his top to rip open as his model walks down the runway. He hasn't made such an embarrassing mistake since his final project for his first year at design school, and he hides his face in his hands as Nina leans over to make a comment in Michael's ear after his model disappears behind the screen again.

"I'm doomed," he mutters. Eponine throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him gently, but he can't find it in himself to be comforted. _Her_ outfit is impeccable, as per her usual standards, and Enjolras seriously doubts she's ever made a mistake at all. She probably doesn't even know the meaning of the word _sympathy_.

His only real consolation is that Grantaire's work also suffered this week, and when it comes down to them and Bahorel (whose metal spike accents completely ruined the whole effect of his design - a pity, really, because office wear is in desperate need of some edge, in Enjolras' opinion) on the bottom three, Heidi fixes him and Grantaire with a disapproving eye but nods them both along.

"No more design school mistakes," she says. "You're both better than that, and I expect to see it going forward."

Saying goodbye to Bahorel in the waiting room is mostly a formality for the camera, of course, but Grantaire is visibly and genuinely distraught by the whole experience. He and Jehan don't let go of him even when their handlers start frantically waving their arms and pointing to their wrists to note that it's time to wrap things up for the day. Bahorel is a little teary-eyed as well, but he's laughing and smiling too as he pushes them away from him.

"The two of you are ridiculous," he says. "We've been friends for years and live in the same apartment complex. Get it together."

"I'm sorry," says Grantaire, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt (not that Enjolras notices the flash of bare skin, nope, not at all). "I'm sorry, I didn't want you to -"

Bahorel punches him in the arm. "Somebody has to win this thing, idiot, and you and Eponine deserve to make it all the way to the end. I'll let you guys buy me drinks for the rest of my life to make up for it, how's that?"

Later that night, when they're all pleasantly tipsy - some more pleasantly than others - Bahorel tugs Enjolras aside and says, "Don't be a dick to R."

"What?"

"He has feelings. Lots of them. Don't hurt them."

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about."

Bahorel stares at him. He doesn't even blink, and Enjolras takes a step back, unsure of where this is going exactly. He's seen Bahorel wrestling with Grantaire (and been accused of voyeurism by Courfeyrac, but that's not what he was doing _at all_ , thank you _very_ much), and if things are about to get physical, he'll need a head start.

"Of course you don't know," Bahorel mutters, and then he stumbles off, shouting at Feuilly and Bossuet to stop hoarding the good vodka. Enjolras takes another sip of his beer and tries not to think too deeply about...anything, really.

***

"So," Enjolras says to break up what is possibly the most awkward silence he's ever been involved with, "what brought you to Project Runway?"

It's a stupid question, and he cringes even as he asks it. But Combeferre left a few minutes ago to walk Courfeyrac to the hotel rooms they reserve for the eliminated designers, and no one else is around this late at night to be the buffer between him and Grantaire. Enjolras is fairly certain this is the first time they've been alone together, period, and while he is slowly coming around to the idea that yes he _would_ like to get to know Grantaire better (and maybe bone him a little, a _little_ ), he doesn't quite know where to start. He knows from workroom conversations that Grantaire and Eponine grew up together, that they're both self-taught, and that Grantaire has a bachelor's degree in fine art, but that's about the extent of his knowledge. Motivations for being involved in this competition are, at least, common ground.

Luckily for Enjolras' nerves, Grantaire appears to give the question serious thought before he answers.

"I guess I was just bored," he says after a long pause.

...or maybe not so serious, as the case may be.

"You were bored," Enjolras repeats. "You were so bored you made a bunch of clothes that wowed the casting directors of Project Runway and got you on the show and now you're in the top eight."

"'Wowed' is a strong word for what happened. I'm pretty sure they were scraping the bottom of the barrel when they let me on the show."

Enjolras closes his eyes and counts to ten. "You've won three challenges, and you're in the top three more often than not."

He opens his eyes to find Grantaire grinning at him.

"Well, when you put it like that," he says, "of course it sounds bad. But we can't all have noble motivations for being here like you and Eponine do, you know."

Enjolras thinks back to Bahorel's elimination and the reaction Grantaire had to it. He somehow doubts he's as apathetic about the competition as he claims, but he won't call him on it. Not yet, anyway.

"Fine. Where did you learn to sew?"

Grantaire lets out a huff of laughter. "You don't have to fish for conversation topics. I'm perfectly capable of sitting here in silence and basking in your divine presence."

Enjolras frowns, unsure of what he means by that. "I really do want to know," he says. "We got off on the wrong foot, and all our arguing's done is cause unnecessary tension in the workroom. Now that there are only eight of us left, maybe it'd be best if we put all that aside."

There's another moment of uncomfortable silence as they stare at each other.

"Okay," Grantaire says finally. He pushes aside his now empty bottle and reaches for another one out of the cooler. "Eponine's mom had this ancient sewing machine she'd inherited from her mother just gathering dust in their apartment. We were bored one summer, there was a basket full of fabric scraps and old patterns, and that was that." He takes a long draw from his beer. "Gave us something to do that wasn't getting into trouble. More trouble, anyway. We made plenty, believe me."

"That's the goal I have for my students," Enjolras says. "Sewing's a useful skill, even if the kids don't end up pursuing design as a career choice. Gives them something to focus on." He shrugs. "I'm trying to do that, that is."

Grantaire frowns and opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, shaking his head as if he's thought the better of it. He licks his lips and then says, "I have to admit, I didn't think much of your programs when I first heard about them, but you seem to be having some success."

Enjolras sits up straighter in his seat. Even in the dark, he can see the bright flush creep up Grantaire's neck once he stops talking. "You know about my program?" he asks. The first part of Grantaire's statement is irritating, but that's not the point right now. The point is that the only way Grantaire would know about them is if he went to the community center and picked up their monthly newsletter.

"I may have read an article or two about it." Grantaire refuses to meet Enjolras' eyes. "Eponine wants to start something similar but for all age groups, and she's pretty passionate about it. I was forced to help her with research."

 _'I guess I was just really bored,' my ass,_ Enjolras thinks, staring wide-eyed as Grantaire's face gets more and more red. _He's doing this to increase Eponine's chances._ He's a little embarrassed by how hot he finds that. If Combeferre or Courfeyrac were sitting with them, they'd be laughing hysterically at him right around now.

Enjolras is about to call him on it when one of their handlers opens the patio door and whisper-yells at them about how late it is. He barely has the time to blink before Grantaire is slamming back the rest of his beer and rushing over to the door. He stands up from the table just as Grantaire disappears around the corner.

 _Whatever,_ he thinks. _I get you now._

***

Correction: Enjolras does not, in any way, shape, or form, _get_ Grantaire. He really enjoyed the few hours he spent thinking he did, but now -

"You absolute _asshole_ ," Eponine snarls.

\- now this is happening.

Actually, he's not even sure how it starts. Grantaire's been goofing off since they got back from Mood, sketching manga-style comics of the previous challenge's workroom antics on his tablet and wandering aimlessly around the room. At one point he gets into a ridiculous argument with Jehan over their favorite nineteenth century creative movements, and they have to be physically separated when Grantaire calls Byron's poetry "overwrought nonsense." (No one's ever seen such a tiny thing take down a guy twice her size so effectively. Courfeyrac's going to lose her shit when she sees the footage.)

The next thing Enjolras knows, there's red dye all over the floor where Eponine was cutting pattern pieces out of white jersey - only the white jersey isn't, ah, white anymore.

"Oh," Grantaire says. "So sorry."

And, okay, Enjolras knows he's terrible at apologies, but even he can tell that's not going to cut it.

Eponine spends the next half hour firing out a barrage of verbal abuse at Grantaire, who, surprisingly, barely flinches even when she brings up what seem like some very embarrassing childhood memories. Instead, the insults appear to focus Grantaire, and he sets to making his pattern with a single-mindedness that no one's seen from him thus far. He's almost completely silent as well, another unheard of occurrence, and Eponine doesn't go near him for the rest of the day. Enjolras tries to ignore the drama unfolding between them, but the dark mood Grantaire's driven himself into knocks him off-kilter in turn, and when time is called for the day, he's nowhere near ready for the runway they have scheduled the following afternoon.

Grantaire and Eponine still aren't talking to each other by the time their models are going into hair and makeup. Enjolras honestly never paid much attention to the interactions between designers on past seasons, going so far as to insist Combeferre edit the episodes down to a fashion-only highlights reel for him, so he's amazed by how he and the others are affected by this...fight. Or standoff. Or whatever it is. Needless to say, by the time they actually _get_ to the runway, tensions are high all around, and Enjolras is regretting not bringing any aspirin with him.

In the end, Eponine's in the bottom three for the first time ever. She makes it, but mostly because the dress is impeccably sewn. She doesn't try to blame Grantaire for the judges' criticism of the color and pattern of her fabric, just stands there and takes it, thanks them when they wave her through to the next round.

"I liked it," Cosette says in the designer room. "It may have been, ah, accidental, but I thought it gave it a certain… _je ne sais quoi_."

"Agreed," says Marius, staring wide-eyed and adoring at her. "The color was lovely, too. Blood orange is totally in these days."

"For god's sake, Marius," Enjolras sighs, watching as Grantaire and Eponine stalk off in opposite directions down the hallway, "shut _up_."

('Blood orange.' Fucking _seriously_?)

***

The competition goes back to normal, more or less, after that. Grantaire and Eponine make up at some point, though no one witnesses it, and Marius and Cosette declare their undying love for each other only moments after Marius is eliminated. Suddenly there are only six of them left - Enjolras, Jehan, Grantaire, Eponine, Cosette, and Combeferre - and they've all reached the point where they're anticipating the end of the competition more than the possibility of winning the grand prize.

But there hasn't been a team challenge yet, and no one's even mentioned unusual materials. So when Heidi emerges from behind the screen and walks down the runway with the button bag clutched in her hand, Enjolras immediately starts to sweat. He'd been hoping that the producers have realized how anxiety-inducing these challenges can be and nixed them for this season.

Enjolras closes his eyes to block out Heidi's smile.

"Is it just me," he hears Grantaire whisper to Eponine, "or does Heidi look particularly sadistic this morning?"

"Who's ready for a team challenge?" Heidi asks them, and Enjolras feels a little piece of himself die inside.

He's placed with Combeferre and, because the universe has strong feelings about him and his happiness, Grantaire. To add insult to injury, Valjean takes them not to Mood, but to a furniture surplus store where he tells them that each team is to create three-piece collections using whatever materials they find there. The cameraman following them very kindly goes off to film random store shots when Enjolras starts to cry Combeferre's shoulder.

"Marius would have loved this challenge," he hears Cosette say.

"Of course he would have," Grantaire agrees, looking anywhere but at Cosette's face. Enjolras lifts his head up in time to catch Grantaire's expression brightening. "Oh, oh, Enjolras, Combeferre! Do you think we can -"

"No," says Enjolras. This day is already tripping its way downhill, so he does the only thing he _can_ do in this situation: he takes control.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with his teammates later back in the workroom, Enjolras is almost willing to admit that he may have overdone it a little. In fact, he doesn't actually remember most the shopping - everything's kind of a blur, and he takes it from the silence on either side of him that Combeferre and Grantaire are equally as flummoxed as he is. Enjolras sighs and closes his eyes.

"I'm an idiot," he says.

"No, no," Grantaire says, voice coming out in a strangled whine. "You just got us a pile of materials we have no vision whatsoever for and that might not stretch out to three complete looks. That's not idiocy - it's fucking _sabotage_."

"We'll figure it out," says Combeferre. Enjolras opens his eyes and looks at him. Combeferre's poking a wood chair that's been painted a terrifying shade of yellow with one finger. His bottom lip trembles a little, and then he reaches for his tablet and opens up a blank screen. It's probably the most off-kilter Enjolras has ever seen him, and between that and Grantaire's vicious, pointed grumbling, Enjolras starts to wonder if he's going to make it out of this challenge alive.

He does, just barely, make it through to the top five, as does Grantaire. Combeferre's piece in their mini collection suffers the fatal blow, unfortunately, and Enjolras is not looking forward to Combeferre assuring him it's not his fault (it sort of is, is the thing). He doesn't even want to think about what Courfeyrac is going to say when they deliver Combeferre to her later that night.

***

"I'm surprised you aren't shitting yourself right now," Courfeyrac says as they walk back into their shared apartment two weeks later.

"I am, though," Enjolras grumbles.

And then, over dinner -

"Shit," he says. " _Shit_."

Combeferre smiles at him. "Just hit you that you're in the top three, huh?"

"I haven't finished a full collection in almost a year," Enjolras says. He can suddenly hear his own heart pounding. "How the fuck am I going to make one now?"

Courfeyrac pushes another spoonful of fried rice onto her plate and waves the serving spoon in the direction of the city at large. "You just made, like, thirteen pieces in two months," she reminds him. "I think you can handle it. Besides, you want to bring your best to show R, right? You two looked pretty cozy when we were leaving the hotel."

Just for that, Enjolras snatches the last spring roll out from under her fork and stuffs it directly into his mouth.

"You going to share that party trick with R?"

"Oh my _god_ , Courfeyrac."

***

Finally, the show is over. All three collections went down the runway with only a few minor hiccups. Heidi, Michael, Nina, and Montparnasse, a past Project Runway winner, are waiting to give their critiques, and Enjolras is about ready to burst.

"What the actual fuck was that?" he demands as they're waiting for Valjean to come collect them.

"That was fashion and art holding hands and skipping down the runway, as they should," replies Grantaire. "Don't look so surprised, Enjolras. You knew I had a degree in art. Why is it such a leap to imagine me wanting to create my own textile?"

"Every single piece you sent out had _my face_ painted on it."

Grantaire sighs. "And such a lovely face it is, too. I surprised even myself with how well it came out."

And Enjolras has no appropriate response to that, so before he can talk himself out of it, he marches over to where Grantaire is sitting, leans down, and kisses him quiet.

Unfortunately for Enjolras' blood pressure (or his feelings - he can't quite figure out which at this point), the judges agree with Grantaire's opinion about his face, though not enough to make him the winner of this season. Eponine takes home the grand prize, which, while terrible for Enjolras' ego, makes perfect sense, really. The things she did with red dye on white fabric were just breathtaking.

***

Almost a month after the runway show, a call from an unknown New York number pops up on Enjolras' phone.

"I have a business proposition for you," Eponine says without any lead-up. "I think we could probably use my new workspace for some after-school and summer programs." There's a muffled shout from her end of the line before Enjolras can respond. "R has a personal proposition that I will not be repeating to you, because he is my oldest friend but there is a _line_ , you hear?"

And because he answered the call on speaker, Courfeyrac steals the phone from his hand and says, "He's definitely interested in both. You should hear the rants he goes on about R's collection to us…"

(Enjolras accepts both propositions. Eventually.)

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started writing this story back in January and got distracted by other things about halfway through it. Last week I was casting about for what I could possibly gift darthjamtart with today and remembered this, so I kicked my ass into gear and finished it as best I could. Of course I then realized that darthjamtart is the person I usually go to for alpha- and beta-reads, so I had to very sneakily ask other people to hold my hand through the rest of the story for a week and a half. XD
> 
> Much much MUCH thanks to metonymy and fiarra for giving me feedback and looking this over! You ladies are awesome! <3


End file.
